Tails of the Red One
by J.L. Stone
Summary: Short little fics about Hellboy and random events in his life, or what I think could have happened. Experience everything from Baby, Blooming teenager, and Unbearbly Sarcastic adult. Poor Professor Bruttenholm.
1. I Lurv You

I Lurv You

The TV gave a whirring spit before the picture popped out of sight, disappearing into blackness. Hellboy peered into that blackness and saw himself reflected back. Great and red, stretched out on that ancient, dirt-brown couch that he loved so much. It wasn't surprising, considering he'd had it since before he'd met Liz, so by now it was worn and weathered—broken-in to perfection . . . _even_ if the springs were visible.

The ragged duster that the paranormal investigator usually donned was draped over the sleeping form beside him. He smiled to himself—an expression few would recognize—and lifted his left hand to touch Liz's halo of raven hair. She had passed out not but minutes ago and now she sat half on the couch and half on the floor. She had practically dropped over with exhaustion, sitting and all. Hellboy brushed hair from her eyes.

"_I'm glad she's resting," _he thought and he gave a smirk, "_She's so pretty . . ."_

Hellboy's smile disappeared as his thoughts glided out of his grasp. His eyes raced away from the delicate head resting on his chest, and his mind left the room completely, traveling far—across the ocean, recalling that day a year ago in Moscow.

"_She was asleep then too . . ." he_ reflected.

"**No, **a voice in the darkness of his mind hissed, "**she was dead."**

_"Asleep," _came Hellboy's protest, _"She **was **asleep."_

**"_You _killed her. You chose to kill her. Does she know?"**

_"It was either her or the world!" _Hellboy screamed at the voice. That seemed to quiet it, but only for a moment.

**"So . . . you chose the world? What has the world done for _you_? **The other voice sounded sinister, **"She cared for you . . . does the world care?" **Hellboy silenced and a small, throaty chuckle sounded in his head. The voice sighed, **"I thought so. To the world you are just another freak. The Yeti, a second Elephant Man . . . you—"**

_"Shut up!" _Hellboy shouted mentally. _"I chose right!"_

**"Did you?" **another snigger, **"D'you really think that the world would have cared? D'you honestly believe that the world cares about your decision? They would have all died in their sleep, and she would never had to have seen Hell."**

_"Dammnit! Would you shut up!" _Hellboy commanded, his tone was threatening and the voice seemed to fade away into nothingness. His mind swept it away, into the back of his memory. Faintly, he thought he recognized the voice, but he stuffed it away into whatever dark trunk it had been prowling in for all those years. It disturbed him that he knew it—knew that the voice was somehow part of him—a part he had locked away for good.

And it had slipped through the keyhole like a dark shadow.

Hellboy stroked Liz's ebony tresses, trying to calm himself. She seemed calm and at rest—almost departed from the world. His large, stone hand was resting at his side, a heavy reminder of his inhumanity. He grimaced spitefully as if that part of his anatomy was something bizarre to him. As though it were something not his own.

**"Oh, but it _is_ yours," **hissed the voice as it slithered out from that dark, locked trunk in his mind. **"_Forged in hell, of woman flesh on earth._" **The tone cited the words of a prophet Hellboy had heard in a dream once. It had been a very unpleasant dream. **"It is yours, my son, bound to you by your own flesh and blood. _Our _sinew, our bones. They bind us to it with the vengeance of Hell itself: To burn the heavens. It is our duty." **

Hellboy frowned in his mind, _"Go back to the brain-cell you came from."_

**"Do you think she would love you any less if she knew?"**

_"She knows." _Hellboy murmured and his golden eyes roamed to her dark head. He took a deep breath, his massive chest expanding. His heart did a summersault against his ribcage, and before his brain could really tell him what to say, he spoke.

"D-d'you know?" His voice was shaking as it came out, barely a whisper. Liz shifted uncomfortably, her face slightly contorted as she stirred. However she did not wake. Relieved, Hellboy laid his head back on the couch with an allayed sigh.

"Yes . . ." a little voice, soft and groggy came and Red snapped up, suddenly alert. Liz was still asleep, but her tiny hand had gone to his leg and she was patting him there lopsidedly. "I lurv you too, H.B.:" Her hand drooped off of him and fell to her side along with a large curtain of her hair. Hellboy sat stunned, a tiny laugh escaping him.

For several long minutes his brain idled and no thoughts drifted across its plane: But then, thoughts were suddenly races in his mind like thousands of tiny, black, houseflies. And the only thing he could say in his breathless state was those two, huge, meaningful words. The phrase told volumes.

"She knows."

Fin

What did you think? Review please; I really like it when you do it. ( Sorry that sounded wrong) I think I'm going to keep adding to this "thing" until I have a collection of Hellboy drabbles. So! Next little tidbit—Baby H.B. tries to imitate Gene Autry, the Singing Cowboy. Won't bode well for Bruttenholm I expect.

Keep reviewing, and I'll keep writing.

Peace out!


	2. Back In The Saddle

Back in the Saddle Again

By J.L. Stone

_"It's two in the morning," _Professor Bruttenholm thought as his eyes snapped open. A noise from outside had stirred him in his peace. It was a little twining noise, like someone trying to yodel, but worse. The young, British scientist sat up on his cot and listened.

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh!  
Rockin' to and fro!  
Back in the saddle again!  
Whoopi-ty-aye-yay!  
I go my way!  
Back in the saddle again!

Bruttenholm made an indignant noise as the voice continued. He had to fly back home tomorrow—it was bad enough that he had to sleep in a tent, but this was going too far.

"Hellboy, go to bed!" He waited. The whining music stopped for several minutes, in which Bruttenholm took the time to smile and nestle back down: But, no sooner had he done this than the voice started again.

I'm back in the saddle again  
Out where a friend is a friend  
Where the longhorn cattle feed  
On the lowly gypsum weed  
Back in the saddle again

"Hellboy, please!" Bruttenholm pleaded again, and once more it stopped. He waited, longer this time, before trying to gain back lost sleep. The cot, despite its small space, felt quite comfortable then. With his blankets pulled up, framing his face, and a soft, feather-stuffed pillow beneath his head. . . Trevor was cozying down for another go at sleep. So warm . . . so nice . . . so . . .

_Ridin' the range once more  
Totin' my old .44  
Where you sleep out every night  
And the only law is right  
Back in the saddle again_

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh  
Rockin' to and fro  
Ba—

So dead.

Bruttenholm didn't hesitate this time. He nearly jumped out of the cot and stormed from his tent, allowing the flap the writhe insanely as he passed. Hellboy, with his white stetson and a pair of baggy, khaki pants, was seated on top of his dog, Mac. The dog looked terribly miserable beneath the red child, which was understandable—considering H.B.'s size. The little boy peered up at Bruttenholm from under the stetston, which was perched crookedly on his head, strapped by a band beneath his chin. It sat crooked because of the horns.

"Hellboy," Trevor pleaded, "it's two in the morning, and I have a flight to catch in three more hours. So . . ." the professor adopted a fatherly glance, which made the red boy sag on the dog. Mac didn't seem too happy about it. "Why don't you go to bed."

"Not tired." Hellboy replied. "I don't sleep as much as YOU do."

"I know, you're different." Trevor opened his arms wide as Hellboy jumped from the much relived dog, and bounded into his arms. Despite the heavy stone glove, Bruttenholm managed to balance the kid on one knee.

"Why am I different? See . . ." Hellboy pointed at his twitching tail and laid a critical eye on hi red skin. "You're all pink . . . I'm . . . not."

"But that's _okay_." Trevor admitted. "If we were all intended to be the same, the world would be a boring place."

"Will I ever get to see the world?" H.B. looked up at him with those ever-questioning, lamp-like eyes. Trevor wanted to say yes, wanted to tell the boy that he'd go anywhere he wanted . . . but he knew how the government operated. He knew how _cruel_ the world—the one the boy was so curious about—was. Trevor merely smiled.

"Perhaps one day, you'll see the world."

"Why can't I see it now?" the tiny, flesh hand clutched to Bruttenholm's own arm. It was impossibly warm.

"Why can't Mac talk?"

"He can," Hellboy protested. "He's smarter than _you_."

"Really? Now how did that happen."

"Mac says I came from somewhere _else_ . . ." the red child looked sad. "Where'd I come from, Da?"

That was the first time he'd ever been called "Da" by Hellboy. He assumed it would not be the last.

"You came from a ball of light." Trevor told him. "It was a flash, and when the light cleared, you were crouching there, waiting for me."

"I was?"

"Yes." That seemed to close the gap of their conversation, because Hellboy got up and stretched his arms and legs. He then patted Mac on the head and looked up.

"I promise, I'll see the world, one day." Hellboy nodded diligently, his jaw firm. "And I'll take you with me."

"Okay." Bruttenholm said. "Deal."

"Yeah . . ." Hellboy said. Bruttenholm began back to his tent, followed closely by the red boy and his dog. Ten minutes later, Hellboy was lying beside his "Da's" cot, a thin blanket draped over him with Mac at his feet.

Professor Bruttenholm's eyes felt heavy. A noise from beneath stirred him in his peace. It was a little twining noise, like someone trying to whisper. The young, British scientist lay on his cot and listened.

I'm back in the saddle again  
Out where a friend is a friend  
Where the longhorn cattle feed  
On the lowly gypsum weed  
Back in the saddle again


	3. Bad Day

_**I apologize in my general LAG of updating, but I've been a little sick with my kidneys (again) and, well, it's hard to concentrate on much else when you've got a cramp in your nethers! Anyways, enough of that. Here's another installment, hope you like it!**_

**Bad Day**

**By J.L. Stone**

Abe got a mental shock very suddenly. He had been completely immersed within the pages of Stephen King's "The Eyes of the Dragon". Normally, the amphibious man was not a fan of King, but this book seemed to have full potential, and he thought that the author pulled the fantasy genre off with expert grace. But, he was pulled from the book by this mental shock, which he recognized all too well as one thing: Hellboy was angry. And not just angry, but fuming, furious, downright pissed. And to make matters worse, Tom Manning would not quiet his nagging.

Meanwhile, across the room that was one Trevor Bruttenholm's study, Liz Sherman looked up with equal concern. Her eyes met Abe's. She didn't need a telepathic ability to see that H.B. was about to snap Manning like a twig, but there wasn't much she could do. Calm him perhaps. Abe nodded to this thought and Liz rose, placing her copy of "The Catcher and the Rye" on a coffee table.

Thus, in the hallway, H.B. and Manning had come to a halt and were now arguing rather vigorously about the importance of paper work and record keeping. Everyone knew Hellboy wasn't one for written work: He was a field man, and that was that. End of story . . . except, it wasn't the end of the story for Manning.

"I've told you before; you need to turn in your reports, how simple is that?" Manning sounded like a scolding mother. Seeing as how Hellboy had never had a mother, he poked a finger into his "boss'" chest and glared down at him with narrow, golden eyes.

"_Look bucko! _I told you I'd get the report to you . . . s'just _back **off**_!" Words of wisdom from a man pissed. The best thing Manning could do right now was back off, but he wouldn't, mostly because he was a rotund, stubborn prick. Liz, coming up slowly behind Manning drew H.B.'s attention for a brief moment, before . . .

"Look at me, Red!" Manning took a step closer to Hellboy, an obvious sign of aggression—to H.B. at least. Liz floated around to the side of them, just listening and being generally ignore.

"Dr. Manning." Her voice wasn't nearly loud enough to pierce through his haze of anger and annoyance. So, Liz waited patiently.

"I'm lookin'!" Hellboy yelled as Manning stepped closer. The doctor cocked his head.

"Now, I don't like your attitude, Red. All I asked was for you to—"

"Give you my report, and I said I'd get it to you."

"You said that two weeks ago!" Manning's face was turning pink. He shook his head. "Are you completely irresponsible? Do you have any idea what sort of pressure I'm under here?"

That was the last straw. Hellboy began forward, and eventually, he pinned Manning against the wall, his eyes livid.

"Pressure? You want pressure? Try getting flung from a two story building—then, THEN, you can tell me about **_pressure_**, Manning!" Hellboy's chin was even with Manning's as he lowered his gaze to look him in the eyes. "And if you really want pressure . . . I'll be glad to pop that zit between your shoulders."

"H.B., c'mon, stop." Liz put her tiny hand on H.B.'s warm, fleshy arm. This seemed to snap him out of his anger, and he turned on her, as if noticing her presence for the first time.

"Liz . . ." he trailed off, and, realizing how much of an ape he just looked like, he backed off, rubbing the scruff at the base of his skull. "Waddaya doin', Liz?"

"Stopping you from killing Manning." A small smile spread across her dark lips and she walked forward, leaning her head against his large, muscular chest. Red put both arms around her gently and sighed. Manning, meanwhile, skittered off down the hallway, disappearing around the corner to either recluse into his office, or clean the piss from his pants. Either way, Hellboy was glad to be rid of him.

"Thanks, Sparky." Red said, his Jersey accent bending the word just slightly. Spaarky, is what it sounded more like. Liz just smiled and nuzzled against him, her hair tickling his flesh. He netted his fleshy fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. The fire of anger had subsided thanks to her, which was ironic, seeing as how she was a fire starter.

"Red . . . we need to work on your anger."

He sighed at this, "I know." With a step back, he surveyed her dark eyes and she crossed her arms over her chest as they stood facing each other in the hall. She bit her bottom lip and looked up. Red smiled a bit, "It's been a bad day."

"I thought so," Liz uttered. Her smile was small as she waved a hand and began away. But, she got no more than two steps when warm, strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. She turned in his arms and brought her lips to his, and they stood like that for a long while, lips touching in the cold, steely corridor. Finally, he released her and she smiled playfully up at him. He did the same.

"Thanks, Liz. I think you just turned my bad day into a good one."

Liz shrugged, "Any time, Red."


End file.
